Ms. Etha Jones and the Flying Woman
by Plastic Female Plaything
Summary: Ever think about those people Max stole from before she was recruited by Logan? Well I do! Here is the narrative of one Ms. Etha Jones detailing the aftermath of her brief encounter with Max. Did I mention this is entirely bizarre? COMPLETE


Disclaimer: I don't own Dark Angel of course. It's sort of a given. If I did, I'd be off in Hawaii, sipping fruity drinks on beach and laughing my head off. Just so you know.  
  
Authors Note: Yes, this is an extremely odd plot line conceived my odd little brain who actually thinks about this sort of thing. Oh well. Thanks be to Tsfpwde for looking up French for me online and helping me with the lousy first draft of this. You rock, as usual. :) And thanks also be to my cat Nimbus, whom woke me up this morning by laying on my face.  
  
  
  
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Ms. Etha Jones and the Flying Woman  
  
By Plastic Female Plaything  
  
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Etha wasn't one for hallucinations. It was as simple as that. She felt that no further clarification was needed on the matter. And she most certainly wasn't the type that indulged in the sort of substance that should induce such a thing as a hallucination. 'Although,' she though with an infinitely long suffering quality to her inner monologue as she flopped down into an entirely well-situated chair, 'last night might have just driven me to it!' She'd turned sixty-one years old last month on a dismal Tuesday. But it seemed that all the Tuesdays in that city were dismal. Simply no way around it. The rain had canceled any hopes of an outdoor celebration she'd had. She was going to have the loveliest garden party. Lettie Grayson had a lovely garden party for her sixty-first birthday a few years back and Etha was entirely set on having one for hers as well. Of course, Lettie was far too insufferable a person to even consider being born so that her sixty- first birthday should lie on a dismal Tuesday. No, hers just had to be set on a rare bright beautiful Thursday, so that she might smile condescendingly at one Ms. Etha Jones as she ruled over her lovely garden party with the air of complete and total superiority. In any case, sixty- one years old was far too young, she thought, to be submitting to the hold of senility. Certainly too early for her; Etha had always prided herself on a clear head and well made decisions.  
  
Of course, she also wasn't the type to ignore something like what she had just witnessed at around 2:43 last night. And that was the sort of confliction that left one at a bit of an impasse. After several minutes of such a confliction, (it had probably been the longest time that Etha had ever taken to form an opinion about a situation), she knew what must be done. After a few minutes rummaging about in her kitchen for her phone book (which seemed to be in the habit of losing itself), settling herself back into her entirely well-situated chair, and looking up to right number, she did it. She lifted the glossy black phone on the end table next to her chair (which in her opinion, was entirely well-situated) and punched in the correct numbers with equally glossy manicured finger nails with out another moments hesitation.  
  
"Hello, you've reached the offices of Dr. Morranis. Cathy speaking."  
  
"Yes, hello."  
  
"How can I help you today?"  
  
Imagine! Her esteemed self, being filled with such hesitation! Seldom (if ever) was such an occurrence. Of course, it is not every day that one who prides herself on her clear head and well made decisions is in need of the services of a psychiatrist. She'd just have to be careful that she didn't let a single word about it slip to Lettie Grayson. That awful woman would have a field day with it. Likely she'd hang flyers all about the city proclaiming Etha's insanity. As if anything could make that woman's presence any more insufferable it was the knowledge that Etha Jones had been to a shrink. Perish the thought that such information should ever come into that woman's claw-like grasp.  
  
"Miss?"  
  
"Oh? What? Yes, I'm sorry."  
  
A deep breath was taken before her submission to the inevitable.  
  
"I'd like to make an appointment."  
  
  
  
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"It was late that night. I was just getting up for a glass of water. I often do. More often than not. Almost a nightly ritual really. I find it helps me get back to sleep when I get up and get something to drink. You mustn't tell anyone… but I've been known to… well… drool a bit on my pillow, and when I wake up my mouth is drier than that Margie Burton's complexion," she paused for breath and clutched her gaudy purse in her fingers even more tightly than before. It was something about the neutral colors or Dr. Morrais's office. It made her nervous. Entirely on edge.  
  
"Anyway, there I was walking to the kitchen and I stopped to turn on a light. I've no night vision what so ever. Blind as bat in the dark. Most are though, I imagine. And that's when I saw her. She was clutching the vase that my Great Aunt Victoria bought in this darling little shop on her vacation to New York when she was in her youth. It's gotten quite valuable over the years, I should imagine. I haven't gotten anything appraised in such a very long time. Really should. I could be sitting on a veritable gold mine of antiques and never know it!  
  
"Anyway, as I was saying, she was clutching Victoria's vase in her grubby little hands when I turned on the light and she saw me. She moved so very quickly… it was unnatural. I remember thinking so at the time. She was even faster than my sister's cousin's son, Jeffery. Track runner, and all. Dreadful name, don't you think? Ever so bland, in my opinion. Met the boy once, you know. Didn't like him one bit. He looked as though he'd been plucking his eyebrows. I simply won't abide by a man that plucks his eyebrows. Disturbing habit.  
  
"Anyway, she fled to the balcony then and… well… your going to think I'm crazy."  
  
"I'm certain you're not crazy Ms. Jones. Please continue." The artificially calm and pleasant voice of Dr. Morranis interjected with the sort of false sincerity that only the completely oblivious can overlook. Etha continued on.  
  
"Well, she jumped right off! Just vaulted her self over the railing and off she went! I ran to balcony then, of course, and there wasn't a trace of her! It was like she flew away!" Etha's statement was backed up by some flamboyant gesticulations vaguely resembling a flapping motion to further illustrate her point.  
  
Dr. Morranis sighed mentally and reached up to rub the bridge of her nose in a classic gesture of stress that went completely unnoticed by Etha who was still flapping wildly and was much to absorbed in another pointless story about someone or another to be interested in the motions of others.  
  
Dr. Morranis observed Etha's prolonged flapping with a growing sense of uneasiness until Etha's arms rested once again peacefully at her sides. Dr. Morranis then reached over onto her desk for her clipboard and began a list of possible medications as she waited for Etha's story to wrap it self so she could ask her next question. She sensed the opportunity to do so when Etha paused to draw the breath required to continue her seemingly endless story.  
  
"And how long ago was it that you saw this flying woman in your home, Ms. Jones?"  
  
"Well, it was just about a week ago this evening. I couldn't get an appointment until… Beg your pardon? Doctor, I never said she could fly! Although I really don't see how she could have gone about it any other way… but really! Flying women! How ridiculous! Honestly, Dr. Morranis!"  
  
Another mental sigh for Dr. Morranis.  
  
Yes. It was certain. Ms. Etha Jones would most certainly be one of the difficult ones.  
  
"Calm down, Ms. Jones. Are you on any other medications that I should know about?"  
  
Etha's anger was clearly illustrated in her widened eyes and a certain throbbing vein that was becoming increasingly apparent on the side of her neck.  
  
"How dare you even suggest such a thing! I've never been dependent on a thing in my life before, and I won't let you make me into some sort of drugged up floozy! My Cousin Rachel's daughter Danielle is like that. She was popping her pills right in the middle of dinner, if you can imagine such vile behavior. And she had the bare faced nerve to lie to me and tell me they were some sort of 'herbal supplement'! I don't hold the slightest bit of stock in that sort of thing. Why, I knew a woman once that-"  
  
"Ms. Jones!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I want you to get this prescription filled. I think it will really help you."  
  
More than a few have know the rage of Ms. Etha Jones, but none would ever experience it as one Dr. Sara Morranis did that day. When Sara had returned home to her beloved 23 pound cat known only as "Shnookums" she regaled the entire story to him, ending with the dramatic finish when Ms. Jones had stood, snatched the glass paper weight right off her desk and threw it to the floor. It was, however, a very thick and sturdy sort of paper weight and didn't have the particular shattering that Ms. Jones had obviously been hoping for. Sara had slipped out of the room in the midst of Ms. Jones's continued attempts to take out her fury on the unsuspecting paper weight. Sara had called the appropriate authorities about her little dilemma and when they arrived Sara had unlocked the door to her office for them revealing Ms. Etha Jones on her hands and knees on the floor, banging the aforementioned paper weight against the floor. She then looked up at them all with wild eyes and disheveled hair and screamed a final coherent sentence at them before she was dragged off by the two gentlemen sent to assist Sara. Sara shivered as she poured another cupful of Shnookum's favorite kitty crunchies into his purple plastic kitty dish and recalled those words that likely she would never forget in the entirety of her life.  
  
"J'ai thon en mes oreille!"  
  
Of course, she hadn't the slightest what it meant. She didn't speak French. It sounded like the worst sort of insult, however. Or even worse. A threat.  
  
It wasn't until later that she found out it means "I have tuna in my ears!"  
  
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A sector or two away, Max smiled as she pulled the wad of sweaty bills from the balding man's hand. "Pleasure doing business with you," she said before sauntering away and tucking the wad of money carefully into her bra.  
  
It wasn't as much as she'd hopped for out of the old bag's house; all she managed to take was that vase she just gotten done selling and a few pieces of what looked to be good silver. Yet, it was enough to keep her and Kendra in the apartment for another month. There had also been a statuette on the mantle that she'd had her eye on, but the woman had woken up. Of course, she recalled with a smirk, the look on the hag's face, with her hair all in curlers, that god-awful house coat, and worst of all, that green gunk of a facial mask smeared all over her entirely traumatized countenance, not getting the statuette might just have been worth it. You just didn't see stuff like that in Manticore.  
  
All she had to do then was picture Lydecker in with curlers in his hair, a tasteless women's house coat, and a green facial mask on, and it was enough to send her into gales of genuine laughter that earned her a few odd looks from the people around her.  
  
  
  
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Weird enough for ya? :)  
  
NOTE: Thanks be to Cait for her heads up on my French grammar. ;p 


End file.
